What Once Was
by CrystalShardsOfRain
Summary: Her violet gaze continued to haunt his mind late at night. He would wake up screaming her name, biting his lower lip in an effort to stall his erratic sobs of pain. He would cry. His heart would fall apart, collapsing further and further into oblivion. He would wake up in a blind stupor, trapped in the past. He couldn't escape the hourglass that consumed his life. He never could.


_"There comes a time when the world gets quiet and the only thing left is your own heart.  
__So you'd better learn the sound of it. Otherwise, you'll never understand what it's saying."  
~Sarah Dessen_

* * *

The sun ripped through the black sky like a dagger, abolishing the serenity of night. Thousands of tarnished stars began to disappear. Light emanated from the horizon line, incinerating the darkness of night in an incandescent dance of dominance. Shadows reeled away from the caress of day break, taking flight. The sky became a pallet of soft morning colours, a spectacular array of pink, purple, yellow, and blue.

The morning breeze whistled through the tresses of trees. The grass glimmered as if a canopy of fairy dust had been tossed across the ground. The air smelled crisp, like the interior of a freshly cut watermelon. Various birds irrupted in song, proclaiming the crack of dawn. The sun shone like a beacon, thrusting higher into the sky like a dandelion. For a moment, the world was immersed in life. Time seemed completely infinite.

Ichigo Kurosaki knew better, of course. In his eyes, time was a dangerous spectacle to behold. It gripped at the fabric of life like a disease. Time was an hourglass of torture and sorrow. It trapped innocent souls behind the glass like small granules of sand. He couldn't escape the deadly contraption of time that consumed his life, no matter how hard he tried. The very concept was beyond his comprehension.

Ichigo shook his head slowly, removing his gaze from the window before him. The glass shone brightly in the early morning light, scattering sun rays across the ceramic flooring beneath his feet. The tiles glittered iridescently, creating vibrant patterns on the ground. The walls around him remained indifferent, untouched by the radiant light falling through the window.

Time was an obstacle. Ichigo hated to admit it, for the sudden surge of truth stung like a bee sting. Why was it easy to consume, yet difficult to conquer? He didn't know the answer. He never did. He merely toyed with the thought like a child, too naive to understand his own crazy inclinations. He could feel his subconscious burn from the strain, brandishing his mind in an inferno of flame. It hurt like hell, trying to comprehend the unfathomable. It was a pointless endeavour, he realized. It was like a game of cat and mouse. He was bound to loose.

Ichigo grimaced, moving away from the window. The flooring was cold beneath his bare feet, kissing the surface of his skin like lapping water. He crossed the small room hesitantly, his gaze fixated above the tile squares on the ground. He couldn't bring himself to look outside again. He couldn't force his eyes to gaze upon the thriving life behind the pane of glass.

He supposed it was the lack of happiness in his life that drove his stare from the window. He could never be too sure. The indecisive feeling in his chest ached like a knife wound, slowly corroding his skin in an effort to reach his heart. He had never felt so weak before. He had never felt so pathetic. He felt like a weather worn stone, tossed carelessly into the ocean. He felt like a crumpled piece of paper, used and abused. He felt completely abandoned. In all honesty, he had been discarded long ago.

Vitality and youth had slipped through his fingers like sand. What remained were the remnants of a time long gone. His hair had remained a startling shade of orange through the years. His face still retained several insignificant signs of adolescence, despite his age. His facial structure remained stern. Deep grooves indented his brow, undulating across his skin in various paths. Small, silvery scars, danced across his wrinkled knuckles. His body had become a winding map of jagged slashes and gashes, reminiscent of a battle years ago. Ichigo was an old man.

He preferred it that way. He had done what she had asked of him. He had lived his life. He had moved on. However, things were never as simple as he wanted them to be. She had been wrong. His life had been empty. Each page of his existence remained white. He had known nothing through the years but sadness and agony. Each emotion was familiar, where as happiness was as foreign to him as outer space.

Her violet gaze continued to haunt his mind late at night. He would wake up screaming her name, biting his lower lip in an effort to stall his erratic sobs of pain. He would cry. His heart would fall apart, collapsing further and further into oblivion. He would wake up in a blind stupor, trapped in the past. He couldn't escape the hourglass that consumed his life. He never could. Rukia Kuchiki was gone. He couldn't bring back the dead. It was impossible.

Ichigo sat on his hospital bed, placing his head within the safety of his calloused fingers. He could still smell her blood on his skin. He could still feel her warmth against his trembling hands. He could still see her pale face within his mind, blanched white from death. He could still feel every strained breath she exhaled caress his lips softly. Every time he closed his eyes, she was alive. She lived deep within his subconscious, buried beneath the pain he had harboured in his heart.

This was his punishment. This was how she received her revenge. Ichigo had killed her. He had failed to protect her when she had needed him the most. He had been blind. He had been stupid. He had been nothing but an arrogant child, oblivious to love.

Ichigo Kurosaki had loved her. He had loved her with a burning intensity. She had filled his adolescent life with laughter and pain. The smile that had graced her lips was as precious to his mind as an unspoken whisper. Her voice was a faded song lost to an unforgiving breeze. He could no longer hear it.

Ichigo's aged thoughts were foggy fragments of what once was. Her picture no longer contained clarity. Her skin was blurred along the edges, collapsing into ruin like an ancient temple. He could no longer recall the exact shade of ebony her hair had once been. Her eyes had become dull purple splotches, void of compassion and life. She appeared to be empty. It was as if she had transformed into a bottomless pit. The longer he gazed into her eyes, the more he lost himself within her stagnant stare. Her skin was too pale. Her mouth was too twisted. She was dying within the confinements of his mind. She was always dying.

Tears slowly undulated down his cheeks, creating translucent patterns across his wrinkled skin. He was trapped within his subconscious again, locked within a cage built from time. He could hear Rukia screaming again, clear as day. Her voice echoed throughout his head like a siren. Each screech of agony pierced his heart like a knife, plunging deeper and deeper into his fragile interior. He could see blood behind his eyelids. It seeped through her lips in thick rivulets, staining his clothing crimson. It felt warm against his skin. His long fingers were tangled in her robes, stained red from her blood.

Her hair had become a knotted clump of chaos. Thick, congealed clumps of blood decorated almost every surface of her skin. Her shihakusho was sopping wet. He could feel rain descending upon his shoulders, silently washing away mud and blood from her porcelain features. She was quietly gasping his name. He could hear it roll off her tongue in a strained whisper. He could feel his heart crack within his rib cage. She was dying.

He wanted to tell her that he loved her. Her face was expectant, almost as if she were quietly contemplating his declaration. She was fading like a flickering flame. Her violet eyes were focused on his face, seeking refuge in his amber gaze. She absentmindedly traced patterns across his bruised cheek bones with her fingertips. She was delirious. He could see delirium within her hazy orbs, haunting her consciousness. Rain continued to dribble across her cheeks, clouding her perception. Rukia was already gone.

A muffled moan escaped his lips, shattering his heart into insignificant pieces. He gripped her robes harder, feeling blood flow through the crevices between his fingers. Tears began to fall from his face, mixing with the rain upon his skin. He whispered her name under his breath, shaking her petite form in an effort to rouse her mind from unconsciousness. She hung limp between his hands like a rag doll. Her head swung back and forth like a clock pendulum.

He looked into Rukia's face, attempting to find clarity within her violet orbs. His search was fruitless. Her eyes were blank. She stared into the rumbling sky as if she were in an induced trance. Her bloody hands looped around his neck, brushing against his shoulders lifelessly. He could feel her fingertips gingerly tug on his orange hair. It was the only sign of vitality he could register from her fading form. She was dying. She was leaving his world.

Ichigo slowly removed his fingers from her black robes. He forcefully grabbed a handful of her dark hair. He lifted her head towards his face, stifling a cry of agony. She had finally closed her eyes. Her dark lashes captured raindrops as they descended towards the earth. Blood no longer obscured her features. Her skin was now a deadly pallor of white. Her lips were an unnatural shade of crimson, swollen and bruised from a battle he had abandoned. Her chest moved ruggedly as she struggled to breathe. It was almost over. Almost.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to breathe life back into her broken body. He continued to stare at her in the pouring rain, trying to attain the courage to claim her mouth as his own. It was the only way he could express his feelings. Time was ticking away, trapping her soul within an hourglass. Every breath she consumed shook her body violently. She didn't know that he loved her. She was ignorant and oblivious to his feelings, even her own. He gazed at her unconscious form indecisively, tracing the curves of her face with his eyes.

Silence. Rukia stopped moving. Her last breath slipped through her blood stained lips in a whisper. He was too late.

Ichigo blinked, tearing his mind from the past. He couldn't take it. He couldn't change what had occurred so long ago. Rukia always died within his mind. She perished every time he closed his eyes. She would always die. He would always fail. He couldn't escape the hourglass that consumed his life. He couldn't barrel through the indestructible prison that restrained his actions. He was trapped like a song bird in a cage, yearning to fly.

It was not the lack of happiness in his life that drove his amber stare from the window. It was her. Every time he peered through the glass, he saw her ageless face. She was the sun. She was the constant chorus of bird song in the air. Every streak of colour painted across the morning sky spelled out her name. She was the soft meandering breeze, tickling the tresses of trees. She was every blade of grass upon the ground, every dew drop, every ray of light. Rukia Kuchiki lived outside of his window everyday. He couldn't see it. He was old. He was oblivious. He was dying.

Ichigo Kurosaki was trapped in an hourglass, and he simply couldn't escape.

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**I don't know what possessed me to write this. I was up to the challenge of writing something completely heart shattering. I wanted to strip Ichigo down to the bone. I wanted to display his emotions in a discriptive way. I love the relationship he has with Rukia. To take that away... was interesting. This One-Shot was the result of my creative experiment! Thanks for reading! Feedback is appreciated!**

**-CrystalShardsOfRain**


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